


You Say Rolls, I Say Royce by UseTheForceEm

by GO_Library_archivist



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Gen, Mild Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-06-11
Updated: 2007-06-11
Packaged: 2017-12-28 02:34:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/986646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GO_Library_archivist/pseuds/GO_Library_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for Musegaarid's birthday last year! Amberdiceless gave me the prompt, ?Crowley tries to stop all of his albums from turning into Best of Queen albums.? So that's exactly what we've got. ;) Title is obviously from Queen's <i>Bicycle Race.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	You Say Rolls, I Say Royce by UseTheForceEm

**Author's Note:**

> Note from [Quantum_Witch](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Quantum_Witch/profile): this story was originally archived at [The Good Omens Library](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Good_Omens_Library), which I maintained for eight years until I closed it due to lack of funds and decreased usership. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing the GOL's stories to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in July 2013. I e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Good Omens Library collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/TheGoodOmensLibrary/profile), or through the [GO_Library_archivist](http://archiveofourown.org/users/GO_Library_archivist/profile) account.
> 
> *  
>  **This story contains punctuation errors caused by faulty software on the original site, to be edited later.**

[You Say Rolls, I Say Royce](viewstory.php?sid=332) by [UseTheForceEm](viewuser.php?uid=59)  


  
Summary: Written for Musegaarid's birthday last year! Amberdiceless gave me the prompt, ?Crowley tries to stop all of his albums from turning into Best of Queen albums.? So that's exactly what we've got. ;) Title is obviously from Queen's _Bicycle Race._  
Categories: [General Fanfic](browse.php?type=categories&catid=1) Characters:  Aziraphale  
Genres:  General  
Warnings:  Language (mild)  
Challenges:  
Series: None  
Chapters:  1 Completed: Yes  
Word count: 2944 Read: 201  
Published: 11 Jun 2007 Updated: 11 Jun 2007 

1 by UseTheForceEm

It was rare to hear classical work re-imagined with taste. Less likely if it was a work that few had liked upon its original presentation. Which was why when Handel?s _Arminio_ was finally recorded properly for the first time, and it actually seemed that people liked it, Crowley couldn?t resist picking up a copy.

?Wasn?t it Beethoven who said, ?Handel is the greatest composer who ever lived. I would bare my head and kneel at his grave???

Aziraphale chuckled next to Crowley and nodded in the affirmative. Tilting his head up just a little as the music swelled. Crowley averted his eyes because he hadn?t been paying attention to _that_ anyway. ?Oh, this is lovely,? the angel sighed. ?I remember it not being very well received, though.?

Crowley smirked. ?Oh, everyone hated it. The biographers say he rushed through it, so they claim it?s inferior for it. I always thought it had potential. No one ever bothered with it, unfortunately.?

?Until this fine group,? Aziraphale amended, leaning closer to the speakers to pick out every nuance, lips parted like he could breathe in each note.

The demon sped up along the deserted highway without meaning to.

It had been too long since they had attended an opera together. About? two centuries? Give or take a decade or two. Well, that needed to be amended some time soon.

But not today. Today Aziraphale had nagged Crowley into taking him to look at cottages up north. When Crowley had inquired as to the point of such a search for someone who wasn?t planning on buying a house, the angel had simply thrown that haphazardly glowing smile at him. Crowley had twitched and acquiesced. A moment later it had occurred to him that it shouldn?t have been that _easy_ , but it was too late for him to take it back. He may be a demon, true, but he wasn?t a child.

A brilliant note was hit in the current aria, and the angel shut his eyes. ?Oh, she is _superb_. Really, she just performs the part with such, such??

??lan??

?Precisely, my dear. What was her name, again?? Aziraphale asked, searching around them for the CD case, clumsily brushing the demon?s hip with wandering fingers.

Crowley reached down and grabbed the case without looking, setting it in the angel?s hands. ?Vivica Genaux, I believe. She?s fairly new on the circuit, but she?s getting a lot of attention.?

?I can see why,? said Aziraphale, although Crowley was positive that the meaning of the word ?circuit? in that context had escaped him completely. ?She?s an absolute gem.?

It was refreshing to see Aziraphale so calm in the Bentley. Seemed that with no one on the road to hit and an enjoyable voice scaling impossible notes, the angel was contented. Crowley wasn?t so easily affected, of course. He was always prepared for interruption, always ready for action no matter how soft his thoughts went, no matter how untroubled his mind ?

And then, suddenly, _?Fatto scorta al sentier di gloria?_ was shattered as a decidedly unfemale (but impossibly high) voice added its tenor to the piece, slamming the orchestra under with a cry to _?Keep yourself alive, yeah! Keep yourself alive! It?ll take you all your time and money, honey you?ll survive ? ?_

Crowley brought the car to a screeching halt (mending the brakes as he did so, da-, he-, _fuck_ ).

Aziraphale took his hands off the dashboard, blinked a few times, and turned to the driver. ?Crowley? other than the possibility of your trying to give me an aneurysm, what could have been the reason for that??

Crowley tilted his head at the CD player in the same way a madman might at something very shiny. ?I?m getting just a bit weary of having to constantly replace every single album. Every fortnight. Like buying eggs. Or aspirin.?

The problem was, Crowley didn?t buy eggs. Or aspirin. Or anything of that sort. And having to do anything on a schedule irked him terribly. It was obvious why. _Like turning in quarterly reports?_

From the way the angel had tensed, it was clear that he knew what was coming.

To quote somewhat tastelessly, Crowley was mad as Hell?

?and he was not going to take this anymore.

 

* * *

 

First test was to see if it the quality of the music had anything to do with it.

Aziraphale had cringed as he sat down in the leather seat. ?What is that cacophony of screeching supposed to be??

?Britney Spears,? Crowley answered simply, looking far more disgusted than the angel if truth were told. ?I?m experimenting. It?s been in the car long enough, so we?ll see what it sounds like by the end of the day.?

Aziraphale let his head fall back against the seat. This would not be the most pleasant afternoon to drive.

They got strange looks, that was certain. The angel was surprised that Crowley?s ego was capable of taking such a bruising, what with all the pre-teen girls giggling, and burly men making obscene hand gestures as they drove past. Even Aziraphale had to concede that they probably looked something ridiculous, two grown men in such a beautiful old car listening to a child sing about how she wanted to be hit again by someone?

Had he known what Crowley had done to any person that had even _stared_ at the Britney-pounding Bentley in a way that he didn?t like, Aziraphale would have been far less agreeable that day.

It was eight? o?clock by the time they had finished the day?s agenda and fed the ducks. Crowley was starting to smile just a little as he sped the angel home, the tire treads hanging on for dear life as he whipped around another corner, and then?

?and then Freddie Mercury was singing _Toxic_.

It was quite a frightening experience.

Crowley had crushed the CD into powdery nothingness with a red glare once the Bentley had pulled up of front of the bookshop. Aziraphale decided to let it alone. ?Drink??

?Yes,? Crowley had answered in a suffocated voice, sliding out of his seat and following the angel inside.

Seven bottles later, Aziraphale ? who had no desire to hear music like that again as long as he was... existing ? wondered blurrily (the brandy might have been a bit much?) if Crowley had gotten that all out of his system.

He was soon to be very disappointed.

 

* * *

 

The next time the angel clambered into the Bentley there was no music playing. Well, unless he counted the sound that was reaching his ears, which he would have never called music even under pain of a brimstone whipping (an activity that Crowley had told him was quite popular Downstairs among the younger crowd. They were getting more ostentatious each millennia, in Aziraphale?s opinion).

? _You?re so vain,_? the demon trilled, tapping the steering wheel in time, ? _you prob?ly think the song is about you. You?re so vain, I bet you think this song is about you, don?t you? Don?t you? Don?t you?_?

?Er, _who_ is the song about, my dear?? Aziraphale asked perplexedly.

Crowley?s grip tightened on the steering wheel without provocation. Or with, as it seemed Aziraphale had struck an unintended chord. ?I don?t know,? the demon ground out irately. ?I lost that auction.?

The angel blinked a few times. ?Oh.? He set his hands in his lap. ?Oh, I see.? He didn?t really, though. ?So, er, why were you singing it??

Crowley brightened so quickly, Aziraphale?s mind did a quick back flip just to keep up with him. ?If the car keeps changing whatever album I put in, I?ll just sing. I figure in the end, it might hate the sound enough to behave itself. And now you?re here to make it even more unbearable.?

Aziraphale felt sure that there was an insult squeezed somewhere in the middle of that comment, but he couldn?t coax it out of the haze and force it to stand trial at the moment. ?Beg pardon??

?You?re going to sing with me.?

?I will do no such thing.?

?Yes, you will.?

Aziraphale sighed. The demon could be most difficult when he was determined, especially where his beloved automobile was concerned. ?Crowley,? he said slowly, making sure every word was precise and clear, ?I don?t know any of the songs you know. I?m certain of it.?

Crowley frowned, the crease between his eyebrows showing effectively how put out he was by this piece of information. Then he nodded slowly, chin set at a defiant angle. ?Follow my lead. It?s simple with small words, and done as a round. I trust you can handle it.?

The angel?s eyes narrowed. He did hear the insult there. ?Very well, then,? he said shortly. ?Continue with your frivolity.?

If Crowley was bothered by Aziraphale?s lackluster, he didn?t say anything. Instead, he cleared his throat and began again: ? _Row, row, row your boat, gently down the stream?_? He moved his hand in a circular motion, indicating the angel?s starting point.

Aziraphale rolled his eyes and proceeded in a clear, if somewhat wobbly, tenor. ? _Row, row, row your boat gently down the stream?_?

They did this in the car for about fifteen minutes, heading down the avenue until something very odd happened ?

? Aziraphale was singing ? _merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily_?, and then he was singing ? _we are the champions, we are the champions ?_?

The angel clamped a hand over his mouth, eyes wide with terror.

Crowley turned in his seat to stare at Aziraphale. The angel tried to shout, ?look out? and instead came out with ? _no time for losers ?cause ?_ ? He placed the girl scout on the sidewalk with a quick miracle and hoped she wouldn?t really notice.

Aziraphale covered his mouth again as Crowley pulled the car over. Once they were safely on the side of the road, the angel leapt out of the car and started pacing hysterically.

Crowley got out of the Bentley a second later and stood to the side, watching him go back and forth, back and forth. Eventually, the demon got dizzy and started pacing with him. ?Aziraphale?? he ventured after a few minutes, ?Are you? all right??

The angel stopped abruptly, lips pursed, the look on his face suggesting that he was considering his answer carefully. ?Mmm?? was what he said first, and after a moment Crowley realized that he was testing his voice. ?Mm. That? was the single most horrific experience of my life, Crowley.?

?Oh, I don?t know about that,? Crowley answered with a smirk. ?Remember that time in Argentina with the tequila and those maracas, and the nude beach??

If looks could discorporate? well, they couldn?t, so there was no point in dwelling over it.

?Take me home,? Aziraphale said through gritted teeth.

Crowley must have been a little unnerved by the Wrath, as he drove the angel back without complaint and didn?t hum a note the whole way.

 

* * *

 

Crowley tried buying a new CD player. Aziraphale didn?t understand how that would make a difference, as there had been no change when he?d gotten rid of the blaupunkt.

?But now you can load ten CDs at the same time and it just rotates them,? the demon had exclaimed enthusiastically.

?So?? Aziraphale attempted (not that he was very good with technology, but he was fairly certain that this was faulty logic), ?? it will rotate ten of the same album. All the time.?

The demon slouched into his seat. ?You?re missing the point.?

Apparently, Aziraphale was.

 

* * *

 

When Crowley attempted to threaten the Bentley the same way he did his houseplants, Aziraphale was absolutely certain that he was losing his mind.

After all, it just wasn?t heard of for the demon to do anything that might offend or upset the car in any way. ?Whole body glove? and all that.

?Are you sure this is the proper way to handle this?? Aziraphale asked. He was holding a glass of lemonade out to Crowley while the demon cursed and demeaned the car, telling it that it had better shape up, eighty years was a long time and maybe the car just couldn?t keep up anymore. Maybe he should try something new, like one of those hybrid things ?

Maybe he?d get a Hummer.

That was not a thing to say to a 1926 Bentley that had been in the possession of a demon since its humble creation.

The car wouldn?t start after that.

The demon had gone five separate shades of white, all of which looked very unhealthy in Aziraphale?s mind. The angel patiently sipped Crowley?s lemonade, watching the fiasco from his doorway, observing as the demon got down on his knees in a suit that probably cost more than a month?s rent in his books, begging the car to forgive him. He complimented it and got as close to apologizing as Aziraphale had ever seen him come. _I should be a car,_ the angel thought morbidly. _Maybe I could get him to repent for some of things he?s done to me over the years?_

In the end, Crowley bribed the car with real petrol, the first it had been given in decades.

The Bentley ran quite smoothly after that, although the door had a tendency to stick when Crowley grumbled about the incident under his breath.

And, of course, Freddie Mercury still wreaked sexy havoc on the speakers.

 

* * *

 

Crowley banged his head against the steering wheel once.

Twice.

Thrice.

Qu ?

?Really, my dear.?

?I don?t know what else to do,? Crowley said in a tone that was absolutely not a whine. ?I?ve tried everything that I can think of, short of going Downstairs to pay Freddie a visit??

Aziraphale?s brow furrowed. ?You?re sure he?s Down There??

?Positive,? the demon assured him. ?Someone told me when they got the paperwork. Tried to explain why, but I didn?t really understand. Something about a guitar tuner, heroin, some magic markers, and an oath to John Stamos??

The angel frowned. The demon sighed.

And then, all at once, Crowley smiled. ?I could get someone to perform an exorcism on the car!?

Aziraphale turned his head and stared at Crowley.

Just stared.

For a long time.

It was not a very encouraging stare.

In fact, it made Crowley feel rather inadequate.

The demon bowed his head and looked at the steering wheel. ?I don?t know why I said that.?

?You?re desperate,? the angel conceded, brushing Crowley with a little of that sunny, ethereal enthusiasm that he radiated. Crowley hated it when he did that. And he was sure that Aziraphale knew it. ?But really, Crowley, have you stopped to consider ? ?

?I?ll just stop playing music in the car. It shouldn?t be that hard. I can do that.?

?Crowley ? ?

?I?ll just have to stop putting the albums in the car ? ?

?Crowley ? ?

? ? would be a little hard to remember at first, but I can ? ?

? _Crowley._?

?What??

Aziraphale waited until Crowley was looking at him. He may have been wearing his sunglasses, but the angel always knew where his eyes were, regardless. Crowley thought he should probably find that more unnerving than he did. ?What?? he asked again, when Aziraphale didn?t answer, only kept staring at him with all the focus of Gandhi on a hunger strike.

?You?d miss it,? the angel said simply.

Crowley snorted.

?Would not.?

?Yes, you would. You would miss it.?

Aziraphale, Crowley thought, picked the strangest moments to be serious about things. It was usually when they were drunk, or running from angry mobs (in the early days), or watching a war unfold, but on occasion he just picked a time when it seemed invariably _wrong_.

Didn?t change the fact that this time it was _right_.

The demon shifted the car back into gear. ?Bookshop??

Aziraphale settled back into his seat, the smallest of smiles gracing his expression. ?Yes, I think so.?

When Crowley dropped Aziraphale off, he could have sworn that he heard a voice humming some part of _The Show Must Go On_ , albeit oddly phrased and without any sense of a downbeat.

But it was probably his imagination.

 

* * *

 

The next time Aziraphale got into the Bentley, Crowley had the CD player turned on. It was Beethoven?s _Under Pressure_. Aziraphale calmly bobbed his head completely out of time. Not that the time was completely discernable in this case. And Crowley hummed along with the string section hazardously, enjoying it when he clashed with the fine harmonics.

He remembered how many important moments were marked by that rangy voice, how the unlikely melodies had accompanied him through some real turmoil and then some.

He remembered Tchaikovsky?s _Another One Bites The Dust_.

But he wouldn?t have missed it. Not one bit.

At least, that?s what he told the angel.

Freddie Mercury sang on in the 1926 black Bentley. He?d found his home a long time ago.

  
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.

This story archived at <http://library.good-omens.net/viewstory.php?sid=332>  



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